Destroying Lives
by wee kraken
Summary: There was nothing out there but old tin cans, worn out shoes, dying weeds, and a few rats – the trash that nobody wanted. He fit right in. It was the perfect place for Marcus Eaton - sixteen, and Candor, and a liar. Learn the history of the Eaton family - Divergent - the Pre-pre-prequel.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm having bad writer's block on Killing Four, my other story. So what do I do? Do I buckle down and power through the pain? No. Do I do something useful, like clean my room? No. Do I stop procrastinating on my original novel? No (NaNoWriMo will force me to stop doing that soon). Do I write something nice, like FourTris fluff, that won't give me bad dreams? No. No. No. Nope, I don't do any of those things. Instead, I start a story about Marcus. Yep. Marcus. Because he didn't spring from the womb as a fully formed monster, and because I seem to be obsessed with the darkest fics possible. So, yeah...Marcus.**

**This is a little bit of an experiment, as I am usually a present tense writer. Didn't want first person either, because let's face it - who _really _wants to live in Marcus's head? Constructive criticism is welcome. REVIEW PLEASE - because if people aren't into this story, I'll probably scrap it. Enjoy!  
**

**~wk  
**

* * *

The fence was always the same – a looming wall of cement and posts and barbed wire, the outer boundary of his cage. He liked to walk along it, not near the gates, full of soldiers and farm trucks and banjo-strumming peace freaks, but the no-mans land between Erudite headquarters and the Candor sector. There was nothing out there but old tin cans, worn out shoes, dying weeds, and a few rats – the trash that nobody wanted. He fit right in. It was the perfect place for Marcus Eaton - sixteen, and Candor, and a liar.

He didn't intend to be a liar, not at first. Every Candor-born knows that honesty is the most important virtue. The truth is beautiful. When his mother told him she loved him before she died, he knew she meant it. When he listened to his leaders' political promises, he knew they were real. But lies were easier. When his father beat him up and lied about it, he did too. When he was caught, and lied again, Marcus did too. Lies upon lies, until the day his father was thrown out of Candor for good. That day, John Eaton asked his son to leave with him, to live factionless, together. That day, Marcus finally told him the truth. He told his father that if he ever saw him again, he would kill him.

After that, the Candor put him into "conditioning" – rehab for liars. Foster parents, truth serum, group testimony, the works – they knew Marcus was the victim, but that didn't matter. He had been dishonest. No one trusted him anymore. So he kept lying, and he started to like it. He was good at it. He could manipulate people, and blame things on others. He could look into a girl's eyes and talk about feelings that didn't exist. He knew how to leverage his deep blue eyes and broad shoulders to get what he wanted.

If his fellow faction members really knew him, they would call him a sociopath, but that wasn't the truth either. That would mean he didn't care, and Marcus cared about a lot of things. He cared about learning and information. He cared about what his dead mother would think. He even cared about a friend or two. But he cared about one thing more than anything else – himself. When the world collapsed, he intended to be the last one standing…or the first one to escape.

So he walked the fence line, and wondered.

He always came here alone, when all the loud opinions and personal questions got on his nerves. Today was no exception – except when he reached the fence, someone was already standing there.

"Have you ever been out there?" Johanna Reyes didn't turn to greet him. Instead she put her hand directly onto a strand of wire, pressing lightly until the barbs just pierced her flesh. Marcus pressed his lips together in annoyance; he wasn't really in the mood for company. He reached out and lifted her hand off the fence. A dot of blood welled up on her index finger.

"Not yet," he said.

The girl turned to look at him, a smirk playing around her lips. She was pretty, beautiful even, with long dark hair and bold, expressive eyes, trained to seek out truth like any other Candor-born. But Johanna was different – because Marcus was sure that she knew how to lie. She never seemed to judge him, and if that didn't make them friends, at least they were allies.

"Want to try?" she said, motioning toward the bottom of the fence. There was a hole there, a recent defect the Dauntless patrols hadn't found yet. The strand of wire closest to the ground was wrenched up, and there was a slight ditch scratched into the dirt, a passageway for a large dog…or a small person.

"I'm not going to fit through there," Marcus said scornfully. "And why would I want to?"

"Because you're bored?" Johanna asked, one eyebrow raised. She unzipped her jacket and tied it around the wire over the gap, shielding the barbs. "Come on! Live dangerously for once in your life." She dropped to her belly and wiggled under the fence until she emerged on the other side, shirt torn and dirty.

"What are you, Dauntless?"

Johanna paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "Maybe I am. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Marcus looked at her through the fence. "So you already know you're leaving Candor then."

"Honestly?" He nodded. Johanna started laughing. "If I told you honestly, you'd already have your answer, wouldn't you," she said. Marcus gave her a grudging smile. "So are you coming or not?"

She hooked her hand under the jacket she had wrapped around the wire and tugged it up further. Marcus frowned. He wasn't impulsive; he didn't enjoy taking risks. But he had always wanted to know what lay outside the fence, and he might not have another opportunity. In three weeks, they would choose their factions, and Marcus still had no idea where he wanted to go, or what would happen when he got there.

He shrugged. "No time like the present." He crawled through the hole. A barb caught his white shirt, tearing it down his back and grazing his skin. Johanna helped him to his feet and grinned.

"Now what?"

Marcus scanned the horizon. To the left stretched the marshy, muddy expanse of the lakebed, the grim view from Erudite's glass towers. To the right, a dusty field of weeds, peppered with the odd abandoned home, weathered down to concrete slabs and buckled chimneys. His eyes landed on a distant clump of withered trees.

"There," he pointed.

"Scenic," said Johanna, rolling her eyes. She turned and started off towards them, leaving Marcus to trot in her wake. Dust rose with each of their footsteps, swirling around their legs and coating their black Candor-issued trousers. The air was still and silent, broken only by the occasional call of a crow. Cockroaches scurried across their path. The further he walked, the more nervous Marcus grew. He felt incredibly exposed - if they were caught out here, there would be no covering it up. No one would believe their lies.

He glanced over at Johanna. She seemed calm, almost fearless, though her eyes were darting everywhere. The quiet settled over them, a rare feeling for anyone who grew up in Candor. Minus the roaches, and the dirt, and the uneasy sense that someone was watching them, it felt almost peaceful.

The trees were further away than they looked, still a distant spot of green in the dull brown wasteland. Johanna paused to rest in the shadow of a crumbling brick wall, a house abandoned generations ago.

"Now I know why no one ever leaves the city," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "There's nothing out here. I wonder what happened to the people who lived here?"

Marcus shrugged. "Some of them died in the wars. The rest helped found the factions, I guess. Faction History 101."

Johanna's eyes narrowed. "You don't think they're telling us everything, do you." It wasn't a question.

"Our teachers aren't Candor."

Johanna snorted. "That's a good thing. I don't think I could stand six periods of debate class." She reached down and picked up a rock, launching it at a rat poking its head around the corner of the wall. The creature disappeared.

"Me either." Marcus kicked the dirt near the wall, unearthing the jagged lid of a tin can. He picked it up and tossed it into the patch of sunlight between them. Johanna looked at him sadly.

"Where are you going to go, Marcus? Everyone knows that you're not Candor material."

Marcus plopped down in the dust beside her. "I could care less what everyone knows." She just looked at him, her brown eyes thoughtful. "What?" he asked, sick of her staring at him.

"Just trying to place you in a faction," she said smiling. "And I'm not coming up with anything." She blinked, and the smile faded. "Actually, that's kind of weird."

Marcus clenched his jaw in anger. Being factionless was one of his biggest fears, and this girl was practically telling him that was his only choice. "Thanks for your brilliant insight Johanna," he spat, climbing to his feet. "I know that I don't fit in anywhere. I'm in Candor, remember? Half of your friends have told me that already. So I should just quit while I'm ahead? Drop out of school and start collecting garbage with the rest of the trash?"

He stared back towards the fence, barely visible in the afternoon light. Johanna stood up and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Marcus, I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that you have choices. Half of the kids in our class are total sheep. You know that." She was trying to comfort him, but Marcus didn't want her sympathy, or her advice. He could take care of himself – he always had. He shook her hand off and turned to face her, his eyes dark and cold.

"Why did we come out here anyway? We already knew what was here. Just the end result of people doing what they do best – behave like animals."

Johanna stepped back, shocked by the anger on his face, the menace in his eyes.

"But, the factions solved all that, right? War, murder, selfishness, ignorance…we don't have that anymore," she said.

Marcus walked up to her, his tall frame blocking out the sun overhead. He sneered in her face, and her eyes went wide. "You forgot honesty, Johanna," he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "Because no Candor has ever lied."

She swallowed. Marcus walked backwards, out of the shadow of the wall and into the light. "Don't fool yourself. We'll be fighting and killing each other again. It's only a matter of time." He smiled at her – the coldest smile she had ever seen. "Good luck with your _choice_," he said. "Maybe you should go for Dauntless. At least you'll know how to shoot back."

Marcus walked away, back towards the city. He felt like a jerk, leaving her there alone. But he was a jerk to almost everyone, so why should she be any different? He kicked pebbles as he walked, watching them roll into craters, the relics of century-old landmines and bombs. He didn't hear the creeping footsteps, the snapping twig. He didn't hear the struggle, or the running footsteps.

He heard the scream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone - so whenever I have extreme writer's block on my Four Insurgent POV, I seem to write about Marcus. I tried to write something lighter, but ended up back here. I guess I am freakish that way. The good news is that it usually kick starts updates for my other stories, so that's a good thing. But I think I will continue this Marcus fic periodically. Just think of it as _Divergent - the Pre-pre-prequel. _I know not many of you are reading this, it's not a happy fluffy FourTris epic, but if you are reading, please take the time to review. Critique at will - it is really helpful, and inspires me to write more. Enjoy my version of the Divergent parental history - Natalie, Andrew, and Evelyn will all be making appearances in later chapters.**

**peace  
**

**~wk  
**

* * *

The sound echoed over the flat, dusty field, fading into the wind. It was high, desperate, and female.

Johanna.

Marcus spun around and started running back towards the ruined house where he had left her alone. He wasn't sure what he would do when he got there; his mind was full of wild animals or broken glass. For some reason, he didn't think of the most obvious cause for fear.

Another person.

A man had Johanna up against the broken brick wall. The front of her shirt was torn, and he had a knife to her throat. She looked at Marcus as she tried to cover herself, tears spilling from her eyes. He stepped towards them, kicking a pebble, and the man spun around, cursing. He was thin, the flesh hanging from his neck loosely, his face covered in scars. At first glance, Marcus thought the man was one of the factionless, looking to scavenge outside the fence. But then he saw what he was wearing. Green camouflage jacket, brown pants, and a grubby orange t-shirt. These weren't Amity castoffs or Abnegation charity donations. These were colors never worn inside the city gates.

This man had come from somewhere else.

"You come any closer, I cut her," the man growled, his voice creaky, rarely used.

Marcus hesitated. He was no hero. No one had ever come to his rescue, so he wasn't particularly inclined to help others. But then Johanna let out a soft sob like a child, and he raised his fists.

"Let her go," he said, and punched the man in the jaw. The man barely flinched, but he did lower the knife, spitting into the dirt.

"Fine. I cut you first."

He lunged with the knife, and Marcus ducked. That's all it took. He was back in his bedroom, fighting with his father. This is what he truly was. He could finally be honest.

He tackled the man, body slamming him into the dust. They grappled, kicked, and punched, until Marcus's nose dripped blood and the man was spitting out teeth. Then the attacker saw the knife on the ground, and raised it for the death blow.

"Stop!" Johanna shrieked. She held out the jagged lid of the tin can Marcus had unearthed earlier against the back of the man's neck, her hand trembling. He looked at her for a minute. Then he dropped the knife and started laughing, wild, insane, humorless laughter that sent chills up their spines.

"You win," he said. Then quick as a flash, he turned, grabbed the lid, and jammed it into Johanna's eye, ripping the flesh of her face downwards.

She screamed in pain.

Marcus screamed in anger.

He saw red. And rust. And steel.

Fresh blood. A dirty knife.

And a dead man who never learned his name.

* * *

There were questions, so many questions. Marcus answered them all with lies, and his story never altered. Fortunately, Johanna was in no state to contradict him. The Erudite doctors whisked her away, one side of her beautiful face swathed in bandages, her voice dulled by painkillers.

Parents kept their children close. They had always thought of the factionless as desperate, not dangerous. There hadn't been an attack like that in the city streets in living memory. The Erudite blamed the Abnegation, for emboldening the factionless with food and donations. The Candor debated whether they should all be rounded up and thrown in jail. The Dauntless stepped up patrols of the abandoned sections of the city, emptying safe houses and destroying their shelters. The Amity closed the gates and locked them, guarding the codes.

At school, Marcus was a hero. He had saved a pretty, popular girl's life from one of society's rejects. He had to admit that he was rather enjoying the fame. His fellow Candor started to trust him again. For the first time, he started to feel like he fit in.

All he had to do was keep lying.

Then he found out who didn't believe him.

The day before his aptitude test, the school principal stopped Marcus in the hall outside his office, telling him that someone important wanted to speak with him.

A calm voice called out from behind the open door.

"Please Phil, I would rather not be called 'important.' Just ask him to step inside and close the door."

The man sitting in the principal's chair was familiar, though Marcus had never met him. The Abnegation council leader didn't usually hang around with teenagers. Arthur Locke was one of the most powerful people in the city, but like all Stiffs, he seemed plain, grey, and unassuming – a leader content to govern in the background.

He nodded to Marcus politely. "Please have a seat, Mr. Eaton."

Marcus looked at Arthur warily.

"You seem nervous. Please don't be alarmed. This is not a Candor interrogation. I'm just here to talk."

Marcus sat and folded his arms, waiting.

"There have been many rumors floating around about the attack on Johanna Reyes." Arthur said. "I'm told you saved the girl's life."

"I guess I did," Marcus said modestly, careful to keep eye contact with Arthur. The man was Abnegation now, but he could be Candor-born. Better safe than sorry.

"I was sorry to hear that the criminal escaped."

Marcus bit his lip, careful to show regret. "Yes he did. I guess I'm not much of a fighter."

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Indeed."

"So he hasn't been found?"

"I'm afraid not. Neither you or the young lady could provide a very helpful description."

Marcus had to stop himself from sighing in relief. Johanna was sticking to the story, and luckily, she was almost as good a liar as he was. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Things happened pretty fast."

"So this person you encountered, the man who attacked Johanna – he was factionless?" Arthur said.

"Yes."

"And this happened inside the fence?"

"Of course," Marcus said calmly, his eyes clear and his hands steady.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and sighed. Then without warning, he reached across the desk and grabbed Marcus's wrist, wrenching his arm over the desk. His grip was strong.

"Other people may believe you because you're Candor-born. But you're not a member yet." The Abnegation leader's eyes were cold and hard. Marcus lowered his gaze. "Don't. Lie. To. Me," Arthur hissed, finally releasing his arm.

Marcus jumped back in shock, his wrist throbbing. His prior contact with Stiffs was limited to polite nobodies who gave up their seats on the bus. This man was nothing like them. Maybe the placid, selfless demeanor was all an act. Maybe they were a bunch of hypocrites, like everyone else. He rubbed his arm sullenly.

"You don't act like a Sti – I mean, you seem different from the other Abnegation leaders."

"Do I?" Arthur said, his face impassive. "You'll soon find out that being selfless doesn't always mean playing nice." Then he smiled, a small, tight twist of the lips. "But I learned that lesson long before I came here."

He pushed up his long grey sleeves, and Marcus's eyes went wide. Arthur's arms were covered in black ink – an intricate design of broken chains, as if a giant had grabbed the tattoo and started ripping it apart. It looked incredible. It looked painful.

It looked Dauntless.

Marcus swallowed. Suddenly Arthur was much more intimidating. And that was more effective than any truth serum. He told Arthur his story, the real story. He told him everything. For the first time in months, he didn't lie. The older man pushed his chair back and looked at him.

"So now you know we're not alone."

Marcus waited for Arthur to continue, to tell him who the man was and where he came from, but the older man didn't elaborate. He didn't bother asking – Stiffs never reward curiosity.

"What faction do you plan on joining, Marcus?" Arthur finally said.

"I haven't had my test yet."

"That wasn't what I asked." The older man leaned forward, his sharp eyes assessing Marcus, sizing him up, solving a puzzle.

"You won't be joining Candor, that's clear. If you were suited to Dauntless, you'd be the one in the hospital instead of your girlfriend."

"She's not my – " Marcus started to protest, but Arthur cut him off.

"According to your teachers, peace and harmony aren't high on your list of virtues, so Amity is out. If you join Erudite, you'll fail initiation for sure," he continued.

Marcus scowled.

"Oh, you're intelligent enough. But you're a realist, not an intellectual." He paused. Marcus could feel his body leaning forward imperceptibly, eager for judgment, and he hated himself for it. "So you have two choices. Join the factionless…or join us."

Marcus had no intention of following in his father's footsteps. That meant joining a faction where he was certain he wouldn't fail initiation. The statement was a slap in the face – and a wakeup call. Arthur was right. Abnegation was the only viable choice.

"I'm not the selfless type," Marcus smirked. Just because he was out of options didn't mean he was going to act like it.

"No, you're not." Arthur folded his hands together, placing them on the desk in front of him as if in prayer. He stared at Marcus in silence for a moment, his features passive, polite, serene – a perfect Stiff. But when he spoke, his voice was chilling.

"When you know what I do, you will be."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi all - I'm having fun with this, even if the main character is a future monster. Hope you are too. Look for more cameos from the various Divergent parents and psycho leaders in the chapters to come.  
**

**I'd like to thank Ks, SheIsFierce, emnem512, LolaBleu, rose, AnotherKindredSpirit, natalie, Aynessa, 265, and snowanimal for reviewing. I'd love more reviews and thoughts on this story. Gives me stuff to think about.**

**Enjoy...  
**

**wk  
**

* * *

The aptitude test was…unexpected.

For decades, it had been a time-honored tradition – older siblings and friends torturing nervous sixteens with stories of interrogations, physical combat, and impossible quizzes. The test was like your virginity – no one really wanted to talk about it. When Marcus filed into the room with the rest of his class, he saw why.

"We're deciding our future with _this_?" said a thin, reedy Erudite boy, holding up his paper booklet and pencil like they were made of dog turds, his lip curled in disgust.

"We have discontinued the use of tablets for this test," said the Abnegation proctor, "for security reasons."

The pudgy Erudite girl next to Marcus snorted loudly.

"That's the understatement of the year."

He turned to look at her. Jeanine Matthews was in his Calculus class. She chewed through equations like a robot, solving problems so fast her friends had nicknamed her The Machine. Max and Mercer, the only two Dauntless-borns in advanced math, called her something she liked a lot less – the Nerd Queen.

"The Stiffs can't even program a decent firewall," said Jeanine haughtily. "Last year's test was hacked by the Faceless. They went in and changed all the results to Factionless. It was chaos."

"It was hysterical," Mercer called out behind her, flicking his pencil at Max, who was sitting two rows away.

Marcus tried not to laugh. The Faceless were rogue computer wizards, most likely former Erudite, kicked out for cybercrime. They liked to target government systems and the Erudite network, and were pretty good at wreaking random havoc. The brainiacs hated them.

"This is ridiculous," Jeanine sniffed, ignoring him. "This test shouldn't take more than 15 minutes, and instead we'll be here all day, _writing_."

"I'd rather take my time when deciding my entire future, thanks," said the Amity girl on the other side of her.

_Looks like someone is headed for Candor_, thought Marcus.

"You don't need to," Jeanine said. "Your brain can decide for you."

"So you're a mind reader now? _Obviously_ we use our brains to make our choices," Marcus said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He hated being talked down to by Erudite. He looked over at two Dauntless boys arm wrestling, their test booklets pushed aside. "Well, most of us, anyway."

Jeanine rolled her eyes. "No. I'm talking about a simulation. The computer sets up scenarios, and the choices you make under the simulation will sort you into the appropriate faction. The results are downloaded directly into the central computer."

Marcus frowned. He didn't like the idea of a computer hooked up to his mind, especially a computer that knew the difference between truth and lies.

Jeanine sighed and picked up her pencil. "It's been in the planning stages for years. We were working on a way to connect the simulation in Advanced Programming, and this time last year, I was really close to a breakthrough. Until my lab partner Andrew transferred to Abnegation. A total waste of a brilliant mind." she said scornfully, her eyes glinting in anger behind her glasses.

"Hey runts!" roared the other proctor, a beefy Dauntless man with biceps bigger than Marcus's head. "Sit down and shut up! Let's get this party started."

The chatter faded away.

"Remember, this test is a series of ethical questions designed to help you determine where you belong. It is important to respond honestly to each question. There are no wrong answers. Remember – in the end, your choices are what matters."

Now, the room was absolutely silent, the teenagers eyeballing their test booklets apprehensively. The Abnegation proctor's calm explanation did nothing to relieve the tension.

"You can begin."

-#####-

By the time the sixteens spilled out of the exam room, most of them looked exhausted. Marcus's hair was standing on end. The Amity girl from his row had red-rimmed eyes. Jeanine's glasses were smudged. Everyone looked nervous, knowing they had a night of sleeplessness before their results were revealed the next day. The mixed colors of their faction clothing separated like oil and water as they filed over to their customary tables for lunch, once again arranging themselves into the groups they were born into.

The Candor kids at Marcus's table were unusually subdued. Then he realized one of them was missing.

Johanna hadn't taken the test.

* * *

"She's very tired." Mrs. Reyes smiled at Marcus as she led him upstairs to Johanna's room. "The test today really wore her out. But I know she'll want to see you."

He coughed into his hand to cover his shock. Not only had Johanna skipped the aptitude test, she had lied about it. In Candor, that was tantamount to treason. Whatever her reasons, Marcus wasn't about to rat her out.

"Yes, it was very exhausting," he said smoothly. "I won't stay long."

He knocked and opened the door. Johanna was sitting at her desk, sorting through a pile of cards, her back to him. Marcus listened to her mother retreating down the hall before he spoke.

"So? Where were you?"

She turned, and Marcus tried not to wince. The scar was vivid and raw, dividing her face from her forehead to her chin. A patch still covered her eye. She pulled the band from her hair, letting the dark strands settle over the injury.

_So now you know we're not alone._ Not for the first time, he wondered how much Arthur Locke knew about the world outside the fence. His hands curled into fists. He thought he hadn't cared about anyone in Candor, but Johanna was nice. She had never judged him, even in the days when all the other kids had crossed to the other side of the street when he walked by, to avoid being seen with a liar. She didn't deserve this.

"I didn't take the aptitude test, ok?" Johanna snapped. "And if you tell my parents, I will never speak to you again."

"Oh come on," Marcus said, rolling his eyes. "I'm a liar, remember? Plus you covered for both of us even when you were half dead. I won't be telling anyone anything."

"We couldn't tell them we were outside the fence. We would have been in such trouble. Besides, that factionless guy..." Johanna frowned, tears welling up in her eyes. She blinked and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Then we won't. But why didn't you show up today?"

"I didn't need to."

Marcus sat down on the bed next to her. "Johanna, everyone takes the aptitude test. The choosing ceremony's in two days. How are you going to choose a faction? Throw a knife at the bowls and see where it lands?"

"I didn't need to because I already know where I'm going," said Johanna, raising her chin and glancing at Marcus with her good eye. "I've already decided, and I don't want the test to tell me differently."

"And where would that be?"

"Amity."

Marcus didn't return her smile. "Really? You always seemed a little…bold…for the banjo brigade."

Johanna bowed her head, hiding behind her long brown hair.

"Once you're affected by violence, peace seems more precious," she murmured.

"Or more pointless," Marcus retorted.

"I don't see a scar on your face, Marcus!"

"I'm pretty familiar with violence, Johanna." Marcus's voice was quiet, but the anger was clear. The whole faction knew about him hiding his father's abuse. Johanna was no exception.

She looked up at him, contrite. "I realize that, and I'm sorry. But I can't…" She paused, trying to compose herself. "I thought I would be Dauntless, once. I always liked thrills, and I'm not afraid to speak my mind. But now, I can't even imagine picking up a weapon. I would fail initiation. And I would be cast out to live with people like that guy who attacked me."

Marcus looked at her, sitting there defeated, her spirit broken. Johanna didn't know he'd killed the man outside the fence; she had passed out from the pain. She had assumed her attacker was factionless, and Marcus never told her differently. It was probably better that way. He sighed and put a hand on her arm.

"It's your choice to make. And wherever you end up, I hope you find peace."

Johanna stood up and hugged him, Amity style. Marcus stiffened – hugs weren't taboo in Candor, but he had never enjoyed being touched. She stepped back and looked at him, tilting her head slightly as if taking a mental photograph. Their last time in black and white.

"Best of luck to you too, Marcus. And if you ever need a friend…you'll know where to find me."

* * *

The Upper Levels cafeteria had never been so quiet. Even at the Candor table, no one was talking. When an Amity girl let out a shrill giggle, Marcus shot her a death glare. That's when he realized he was nervous.

"Marcus Eaton."

The other Candor barely looked at him as he rose from his seat. No one was sorry to see him go, and he wouldn't be sad to leave his old faction behind. If only he knew where the hell he was going to go.

He followed the Abnegation volunteer in front of him, matching her steady stride if not her placid expression. She walked past the row of classrooms being used for the conferences and turned down the hall towards the administrative offices. Marcus stopped, unsure.

"Please follow me. Your advisor will be meeting you here."

She opened a door and waved him inside. The desk was occupied by a middle aged man clad in grey.

Arthur Locke.

Marcus froze. He knew this wasn't a coincidence.

"You don't normally do this, do you?" he asked.

"Not exactly. I only advise students whose results were…unusual," said Arthur.

"Me. Again." The boy flopped down in a chair, glaring at Arthur resentfully.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say you were the only one."

Marcus closed his mouth sheepishly. "Oh."

"You're a bit self-centered, aren't you?" Arthur said lightly. "Obviously that will need to change." The older man opened the file and ran his eyes over the page, though it was clear he had already read it. He looked up at the boy in front of him, his gaze cool and calculating. Marcus was filled with a sudden overwhelming desire to run from the room.

"I entered your result as Abnegation."

Marcus blinked. He felt no shock, no disappointment, no relief. He felt nothing. Abnegation was a safe option, it was true. He wouldn't fail initiation. He would have a place to belong. So why did it feel like a lie?

"You don't seem surprised. You should be, since you displayed no aptitude for selflessness," Arthur said.

"What? Then why would you -" The question caught in Marcus's throat. He had to ask, even if he didn't want to know the answer. "So what faction did I really have aptitude for, then?"

"None of them."

The air in the room grew heavy and silent, so quiet that Marcus could hear the ticking of Arthur's watch. That, and his own panicked breathing.

"You're saying I have no virtues at all then. Not a single redeeming quality." Marcus didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"According to how our society is currently structured, no." Arthur smiled, not the small polite smile Marcus was used to seeing from Stiffs, but a twisted, sarcastic smirk.

"You think this is funny?" Marcus shouted, his anger not quite covering the fear in his eyes. The leader slammed the file down on the desk.

"On the contrary. This is deadly serious." Arthur leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Most people show aptitude for one faction. But not everyone. A few display affinity for two, or more. We call these people Divergent."

Marcus looked down, confused, his jaw working. He had never heard of this in Candor – which means even with their emphasis on openness and honesty, his leaders still kept some things secret.

"Pay attention," Arthur snapped. "You must never speak of this, or tell anyone about your results. If anyone else learned about this, you'd be factionless by the end of the week. Or worse."

"But I didn't show aptitude for anything. How can I be Divergent?" Marcus said. He could feel the panic welling up from his gut, in a way he hadn't experienced since his father left. He was used to feeling like a misfit – but he had never thought it was dangerous.

Arthur stood up, his chair screeching against the tile. "You would have," he said, shaking his head in disappointment. "If you had been honest with yourself."

Marcus's mouth opened in protest, but he said nothing. Arthur was right. He had answered the test questions with what he thought people wanted to hear, and what he wished was true – and he had hidden his own sense of self. Now he would never learn who he really was. Now it no longer mattered.

"Join us, and learn virtue. Join us, and forget yourself, so you can learn what really matters." The Abnegation leader walked over to the door, his posture straight and even, his face blank, a polite mask ready for the outside world. But his eyes were dark, hooded in shadow.

"In Abnegation, we subdue the self and project outwards – we ignore curiosity, and greed, and desire. We work for the greater good. We keep the focus on others."

Arthur turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob, and smiled.

"Which means it's a good place for secrets. And a good place for lies."

Marcus stared at him. He could already feel the knife slicing into his hand. He was through with black and white. He looked into his future, and saw nothing but grey.

And red, dripping onto stone.

He nodded.

"Choose wisely," Arthur said, and opened the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I've been away for a while. Haven't been in a writing mood. It happens. I know people want more for my other stories, especially "Killing Four," and those updates are coming, I promise. I haven't abandoned them. In the meantime, you get Marcus instead. ****And a whole lot of Natalie! One of the l****ongest chapters I've ever written. Hope you like Tris's badass 16 year old mom. **

**If you read, PLEASE review. I know this story isn't exactly the whipped cream and cherry on top of a delicious sugary Fourtris sundae, but I appreciate each and every review. They are the only thing that keeps me writing. Love to all, and thanks for reading.**

**peace,**

**~wk**

* * *

The Abnegation houses were dull, squat, and dreary – the inanimate equivalent of the chubby, quiet, mousy girl that no one ever notices at school. The people seemed lanky and drawn, swamped in loose grey fabric. They smiled at Marcus as he walked into his new faction's headquarters for the first time, but their smiles were tight-lipped and formal, their faces gaunt above their high collars.

Maybe it was the food. He had heard bad things about the food.

The initiates filed into the center of the meeting room, and for the first time, Marcus looked at the other teenagers who had made the same choice. Even without looking at the color of their clothes, it was easy to tell who the Abnegation-born were – they seemed content, serene, at ease with their surroundings. The transfers were another story. There were just five of them, including him – two lookalike Amity boys with untidy brown hair, a tall, dark-eyed Erudite girl, and a slim blonde girl from Dauntless, tugging her sleeves down over the edge of a tattoo. He was the only Candor.

He guessed he had the same expression as most of them – trepidation coupled with very un-Stiff-like curiosity. Everyone except for the Dauntless girl. She was staring towards her feet, her head slightly bowed like the members behind her. Her face was a placid mask, except for her eyes. They were a clear green, piercing, and desperately sad, as if she was standing there watching someone die – the person she used to be, the family she left behind.

Marcus scowled. He wasn't going to comfort her. Unlike him, at least the girl knew who she was this morning. At least she had something to mourn.

"Welcome to Abnegation."

The deep, commanding voice was familiar. Arthur Locke spoke from a bench towards the back of the room, choosing not to stand in front of his fellow members.

"We salute you for your choice, to forget yourself and think of others, to embrace community and service."

The room was filled with the sound of quiet applause, the small smiles of the members genuine, warming the stark space that surrounded them. The initiates felt their hearts lift a little. They had found a place to belong.

"You may have heard that our initiation is easy, that the selfless never reject anyone. What you've heard is true. The bulk of Abnegation initiation consists of community service. We won't quiz you, interrogate you, beat you, or drug you. We will guide you, and we will help you. We will teach you our deepest held values - how to turn away from your own needs, to rely on each other, and to project always outward, until the self disappears."

The members murmured the last words of Arthur's speech with him – the final line of the Abnegation manifesto. Even Marcus had to admit the idea was rather beautiful. If only people really acted that way.

"This will not be easy," Arthur continued. "In fact, the next thirty days will be some of the most difficult of your young lives."

The Abnegation-born nodded their acceptance, but the transfers looked sideways at each other. They had expected to have trouble adjusting to life here, to the plain food, to the quiet, to the constant emphasis on others. But none of them had thought that initiation itself would be hard.

The council leader finally stood, his eyes roaming over each of them.

"To lose yourself you first must find yourself," Arthur said, his eyes landing on Marcus, still in black and white.

It was so quiet you could hear each initiate's sudden shallow breathing, as if sucking any more oxygen out of the room would be too selfish.

"Be warned. You may not like what you discover."

* * *

The young man who led them to their dormitories walked with easy confidence, his gaze more direct than the other members. He looked familiar.

"Learning how to be selfless is a lifelong journey. It's my job to help you find the right path. For the next month, I will be your community advisor. My name is Andrew."

Marcus realized how he knew him. This was Jeanine Matthews' former lab partner, the traitor that abandoned her at the altar of her ambition. He sat across from them in physics last year.

"Didn't you transfer from Erudite?" The words flew out of Marcus's mouth before he could stop them.

Andrew glared at him. "Unlike Candor, personal questions are not welcome here. Curiosity can be inconsiderate. Wait to ask until you are invited to do so."

"Sorry."

"It's fine," the older boy said tightly. "You're here to learn. All of you are. Time for your first lesson."

Andrew set them to making beds and folding clothes, dolling out three sets of grey clothes to each of them. Marcus pulled on the loose trousers and jacket, feeling the last shreds of his Candor identity disappear. As he shaved his dark hair short, a small smile crept onto his face. Here he could lie, and no one would ask for the truth. When it came to his past, his present, or his future, this faction was the perfect place to hide.

In the cafeteria, the transfers huddled together. The place seemed unnaturally quiet, a meal of polite murmurs and soft laughter. To Marcus, it came as a relief - Candor dinners usually resulted in heated arguments, over politics, the food, even the weather. The blonde from Dauntless looked less happy.

"I don't know how I'm going to survive without coffee," she said, plopping her plate down loudly. A man at the next table frowned at the noise.

"Maybe if you pretend to go through extreme caffeine withdrawal, they will selflessly steal you some."

"I'll keep that in mind," she grinned. "I'm Natalie."

"Marcus."

Natalie started to offer him her hand, but stopped halfway, remembering. She finally gave Marcus an awkward nod.

"It's ok, Dauntless," said the sharp-eyed former Erudite girl from across the table. "He still remembers how to shake hands." She stuck hers out and Marcus shook it. "My name is Evelyn."

He looked the two girls over. Both had shed the clothing of their former factions, and pulled their hair into tight buns. Natalie had washed off her heavy eye makeup and removed her jewelry; he could see the tiny holes that ringed her earlobes. Without her combat boots and tight shirt she looked softer, prettier – there was understated beauty in her new simplicity. But the set of her jaw betrayed her. This girl was a fighter. She cared, too much, about too many things. More than he ever would.

Evelyn was more of a watcher. Her eyes were observant and wary, her body tall and angular. She still seemed suspicious of her surroundings, an attitude Marcus understood all too well. In an odd way, it made him more inclined to trust her.

"Speaking of withdrawal…" she said, jerking her head towards the Amity twins at the end of the table. They were looking more and more depressed as the meal went on, poking at the canned green beans and tasteless meatloaf. One of them picked up a roll and looked at it sadly. "I think the bread here is missing a few ingredients."

Marcus snorted, holding back a laugh. The Abnegation-born initiate to her left tightened her lips at Evelyn's mocking tone. She slid down the bench and joined the brothers, launching into a story about trying new recipes when she bakes treats for the factionless.

"Thank you Cherise," Andrew murmured from behind her. He stopped and turned to Marcus, Evelyn, and Natalie. He stared at them reproachfully, saying nothing until all three of them were staring at their shoes in shame.

"Guilt," he said softly, "is a tool here, not a weapon."

Marcus snuck a look at Natalie and Evelyn. Both of them looked like they wanted to fall through the floor. Unlike him, maybe they actually cared. He tried to compose his features into something resembling regret.

Andrew nodded at him. "Learn how to use it, to remind you to do better next time."

* * *

At first, the work was easy – days filled with service projects and community bonding. The initiates fell into a pattern, learning to help before being asked, cleaning before things got dirty, a tranquil world of dreamy predictability. Then Marcus started to notice how the elders were challenging them.

Evelyn was the first to crack. She had been assigned to a group home for the mentally disabled, an overcrowded hive of abandoned faction rejects that only the Abnegation cared for. Her Erudite arrogance bled out of her day by day, but not fast enough to keep her from yelling at a particularly stubborn patient that he was an idiot who should have never been born. She learned how to harness plenty of guilt that day.

James and Doris were sent to Amity to pack up greenhouse fruit for the Erudite, a winter luxury they weren't allowed to have. Despite their placid Abnegation-born expressions, they came home seething with barely controlled indignation at their rival faction's insistence on indulgence. They had the front row shame seats at that night's lecture on acceptance.

The Amity twins, Tucker and Finn, were sent to volunteer at the Candor prison, to teach art and literacy classes to the worst inmates in the city, a firsthand brush with the reality of violence. Every night, Marcus could hear them sobbing in their sleep. After a week, Tucker refused to go back. He got into a shouting match with his brother, who begged him to reconsider, that initiation would end soon, that this was just part of learning what they could take. Without the Amity bread to hold him back, Tucker punched Finn in the face. Marcus pulled him off of his twin and handed him to Andrew, who said he would take him somewhere to cool off.

That's when he disappeared.

Marcus got a new assignment the next day.

"I need you to distribute some donations," Andrew told him, handing him a list of locations. He walked out of the dorm and motioned for Marcus to follow, heading toward the warehouse where the Abnegation stored the canned food, clothing, and medical supplies they gathered for the factionless.

Marcus looked the list over as they walked. They were all street corners in the Fringe, the no man's land between the factionless zones and the Candor sector on the south side of the city. A place he had been raised to fear – a place beyond the rule of law. These were the streets his father had disappeared into three years ago, drunk and disgraced.

This, then, was his test.

"So I just drop a parcel on each corner?"

"No," said Andrew, "you need to make sure that they get to people who need them."

"Yeah, but the Fringe – " Marcus paused, trying to find a way to question his orders without sounding selfish or afraid.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, but…well, the Erudite and Candor don't go there alone. They take one of the Dauntless police units with them."

Andrew's posture stiffened, and Marcus immediately realized his mistake. He knew next to nothing about his advisor, except this – any mention of his former faction put him on edge.

"Unlike the other factions," he scowled, "we have no reason to be afraid of the people that live there. They know we're there to help them."

_Sure, they know we're there to help_, thought Marcus. _But that doesn't mean they care_. If this is how all of the Abnegation thought, they were dangerously naïve. The factionless were desperate, and desperate people typically didn't care about much of anything. He should know.

"Besides," Andrew said, "you won't need a Dauntless police unit. You'll have your own protection force with you."

Marcus's eyebrows rose in shock. If the Abnegation had their own enforcers, he had seen no evidence of it.

"And who would that be?"

They had reached the front doors of the storage warehouse, huge metal slabs of muddy grey. Seated on a bench next to them was a blonde girl, clothes loose on her small frame. Her eyes were closed, her chin tipped up to drink in the weak sunlight.

Andrew smiled.

"Natalie."

* * *

His partner walked next to him in silence as Marcus pushed the cart full of clothing and food toward the garbage-strewn streets of the Fringe. Of all the transfers, Natalie was having the least difficulty with initiation, at least so far. When she was sent to volunteer in a rest home, full of the elderly, senile, and disabled – a Dauntless–born's worst nightmare –the residents had fallen in love with her. Judging from the way Andrew looked at her as they were loading supplies, the old folks weren't the only ones who felt that way. Not that she noticed. If she had, it would have been obvious. Unlike most Abnegation, she seemed to do everything with passion instead of reserve. She smiled more, laughed more, and let her anger show on her face. She reminded him of Johanna, the old Johanna, before she was attacked and everything changed.

"So are you armed?" he asked her, grunting a little from the weight of the parcels. He was only half kidding.

Natalie laughed lightly. "Yeah, definitely. With fingernails. I really do need to cut them."

Marcus chuckled at her joke, but inwardly, he fumed. What was Andrew playing at? They were challenging him by sending him here, that was clear. The closer he got to the factionless sector, the more uncomfortable he became. Did they send Natalie with him as a witness to his weaknesses? To tell him that all of his fear and loathing of what he could become was just another version of selfishness?

Whether she was a mole, or just a tool in the leadership's game, this delicate girl was going to weigh him down. When things got bad, he wouldn't be able to abandon her, or lie, or run. Maybe that was the point.

He bit back his frustration. He wasn't going to be honest with her, or anyone else. "In Dauntless, fingernails were probably a deadly weapon," he countered.

"In Dauntless, anything could be a deadly weapon."

"Do you miss it?"

Marcus looked sideways at her. Natalie was chewing on her lip, her eyes a million miles away. They walked a full city block before she replied, so softly that he almost missed it.

"Every day."

She sped up, ending the conversation. Marcus let her go. The next corner was their first destination.

They didn't have to go in search of people to help. The minute they started to unload the first parcel, figures emerged from the building. There were five of them in all, a makeshift family clothed in grimy Amity red and Abnegation grey. They took the food and clothing without a word, retreating behind their largest member, a wrinkled man with faded facial tattoos, armed with a three foot club. He nodded at Marcus, just once, and left the initiates standing on the sidewalk.

"They didn't seem all that thankful," Marcus said dryly, shoving the lighter cart towards the second intersection.

"I wouldn't be either," Natalie snapped. "A few sweaters and cans of soup don't make up for the fact that society doesn't give a shit about them."

He paused, more shocked by the bitterness in her voice than her choice of words. Her mouth was set in a thin line, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, anger and sadness that she struggled to hide. Yes, this girl cared too much. That, or he wasn't the only one that knew someone who had vanished into the ruined parts of the city. Maybe this was Natalie's test, too.

"Um – "

Marcus cleared his throat. He wasn't the comforting type, but he had to start trying to seem selfless sooner or later. It might as well be now.

"Are you…all right?"

A mask descended over Natalie's features, bleeding the emotion from her face. She nodded. Stiffly.

"Yes, thank you. I apologize for my outburst. Let's finish this up, okay?"

He moved forward without a word, letting Natalie lag behind him. They turned onto a wide deserted avenue that ran under the old highway. The buildings on either side were boarded up and crumbling, unmarked by the bomb craters and bullet holes that riddled other parts of the city. This neighborhood had been abandoned even before the End Wars they had learned about in upper levels Faction History. There were wooden crates and old tires piled everywhere – garbage piles, or barricades. The perfect place for an ambush.

Marcus heard the footsteps first, soft squishy sounds that echoed off the concrete pillars, weaving in and out of building walls and vacant lots.

Someone was following them.

He turned back towards Natalie, walking behind him. She paused, her eyes alert, searching among the boxes and trash that littered the street. She stepped towards the supply cart, just as a man darted up behind her.

He was tall, emaciated and filthy, clad in ripped black trousers and a grey hooded sweatshirt so dirty it was hard to tell where sleeves ended and skin began. All they could see was the beak of his nose. But his face wasn't what Marcus was focused on.

The man had a gun aimed at Natalie's head.

Marcus opened his mouth to shout a warning, but nothing came out. He didn't need to say anything. Natalie saw his face and froze instantly, lifting her hands into the air.

"Please, take what you need," she said calmly. "We're here to help people. No strings attached."

The man stepped closer.

"Yeah," Marcus breathed. It was clear the man had nothing to lose - just like the stranger who attacked Johanna Reyes, except that guy was armed with a rusty knife and the lid of a tin can. He was no match for a handgun. "Yeah," he said again, louder. "We have food, clothes – whatever you want."

The man lowered his weapon, ran to the cart, and starting grabbing packages. Marcus stepped back, trying not to breathe in the thief's potent perfume of bad hygiene and stale booze. He didn't even want to look at him, much less smell him.

"One."

Natalie's voice took them both by surprise. Marcus looked up. She was right behind the guy, and she looked furious…and not in the least bit Abnegation.

"What?" the factionless man croaked, turning towards her.

"I said one. You only get one. You selfish bastard."

The man snarled and raised his weapon, but Natalie had already grabbed his arm, forcing it skyward. The gun went off with a blast. The thief stumbled with the recoil, and she used it to her advantage, twisting his arm behind him and bringing her knee into it with a sickening crunch. The gun clattered to the pavement, and the man lunged for her, howling like an animal.

Natalie scooped up the gun, dodged as the man reached for her, and brought the butt of the pistol down on his head. He collapsed to the pavement, knocked senseless.

Marcus stood there frozen, mouth opening and closing like an idiot. "Where did you learn how to do _that_?" he asked her.

Natalie emptied the clip and stuffed the gun in the back of her loose grey trousers, dropping her jacket over it to conceal it. She handled the weapon almost lovingly, as if she was saying hello to an old friend.

"My mother was a Dauntless leader. I learned young and I learned fast."

He didn't miss the word "was." The Dauntless didn't vote their leaders out of office. Her mother was either dead – or factionless. "You obviously would have aced initiation. So why did you leave?"

The girl looked up sharply, but her expression wasn't accusing or guarded. It was fierce, still Dauntless, telling her story on her own terms.

"I made a promise," she said quietly. "And I became a coward."

Marcus tried not to stare at her. Her answer was pure Abnegation, and pure Dauntless, all at the same time. Arthur had made it clear that he wasn't the only Divergent. Maybe Natalie was another.

She started picking up the scattered clothing and cans, and he joined her. They worked in silence, broken only by the labored breathing of the unconscious man lying near them on the cracked sidewalk.

"Why did you leave Candor?" she asked him after a while. Marcus shot her a look. "Hey, quid pro quo," she laughed. "You ask, I get to ask. Just don't tell Andrew."

"Couldn't take the truth serum. During initiation, they make you take it in front of everybody," he said, for once telling the truth. Sort of.

"Too many secrets you don't want to spill?" she joked, placing the last of the donations back into the cart.

"Not at all," Marcus lied. "I just didn't believe in that much honesty. Plus I always admired the Abnegation. I guess I just decided I'd rather help people than interrogate them."

"You always were a filthy little liar."

The hair rose on the back of his neck. Marcus knew that voice. He thought he would never have to hear it again. He was wrong.

Now he would have to make good on a promise, too.

Natalie looked at the man on the sidewalk. She had belted his hands together, but he was sitting up, his hood down. A small stream of bright red blood was trickling through his thinning dark hair, standing out against the grime of his ruined, sagging face. But it wasn't as bright as his eyes, his deep blue eyes, the same color as the great lake they had only seen in picture books. The same color eyes as the boy who was standing beside her.

"Do you know him?" she asked Marcus.

He turned around.

"Yes, I know him. His name is John Eaton."

Natalie's mouth dropped open.

"My father."


End file.
